


Casual Rearrangement

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Facial Shaving, Female Leonard McCoy, First Time, Genderbending, Hand Jobs, I have a thing for genderbending?, M/M, Marriage, Prompt Fic, SuddenlyMale!Leonard McCoy, Transporter Malfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those goddamn transporters are going to be the death of Lenore of these days, she just knows it. But before that they're content to give her hell of a different sort, including a body switch she didn't ask for and doesn't appreciate.</p>
<p>And that's before her husband finds out.</p>
<p>(This was a Buckleup_meme prompt fill over at LJ for the following: <i>Always-a-girl!Bones to get genderbent and run away from her husband (Jim) because she's freaked out and can't see him him being attracted to guys anyway. And then Jim goes crazy trying to find her, gender be damned, he needs his Bones!!</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Rearrangement

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt fill over on LJ. Apparently I like genderbending? 
> 
> Anyhoo...hasn't seen the light of a beta, so any mistakes you find just point and cackle.

Len hated transporters. With a _passion_. Didn’t matter how many times she’d used one, she just wasn’t comfortable with them in any capacity. Didn’t matter if her husband was on the pad next to her, they still worried her. Scared her, even. Almost as much as riding in a shuttle during a lightning storm (she was _never_ going to forgive Jim for that _one time_ , even if she carried her grudge all the way to her grave). 

“All right, Scotty,” she said into her communicator. “Might as well get this over with.”

There was some mumbling through the static, and she was quite sure she didn’t want to know what was being said about her in the transporter room. It was no secret the first shaky transport she’d turned up on the pad green in the gills, and then tossed her breakfast all over her own boots and Scotty’s shiny floor. She’d wanted the floor to swallow her whole on that occasion. 

She still turned red every time she saw the paper can by the pads. Just in case. 

When she found who was responsible for it, she’d make sure their next physical wasn’t as smooth as usual.

“Right, Doc.” Scotty’s voice was calm and sure; Len stamped down firmly on the butterflies in her belly. She and Scotty had done this many times (despite her other inclinations), and she had a death grip on the strap of her medical supplies shoulder bag. The hand that wasn’t white-knuckled was smoothing her ponytail over her shoulder. Eyes squeezed shut, she tensed as the white light engulfed her.

Something didn’t feel quite right when she felt the pad beneath her feet again. When she opened her eyes, the look of surprise/shock/mild horror on Scotty’s face said more than words ever could.

“What?” she growled, fighting hard to keep from panicking. “Am I missing anything?”

Her voice didn’t sound right. It was…deeper. More gravelly. More…manly. She went to brush her bangs off her forehead and froze, gazing at the foreign hand that was hooked on the end of her arm. The palm was broader, the fingers thicker. She felt her forearm – it had more muscle than she was used to. Her chest was tight (and so were her underwear, too, which was not only strange but uncomfortable as hell) and when she looked down, she was showing a whole lot more hairy, heavily muscled thigh than she was used to. Len’s breathing began to come in little gasps now, as her brain tried to catch up to what her body had done; not caring about who was watching, she put both hands on her chest, where her breasts used to be, and found nothing, her bra stretched (painfully) over….nothing. 

“Lenore?” Scotty said softly, moving out from the behind the console. Len vaguely realized that they were the only two left in the room. Scotty must have cleared everyone else out once he’d gotten over the sudden shock of…of…

If she wasn’t careful, she was going to need that paper can pretty damn soon.

“Scotty,” she croaked, harsh on her own ears. “What…What the hell?”

She twisted her hands and with a sudden, awful feeling, started twisting her wedding ring. It wouldn’t move. _No, no, no…_ She tugged at it; it stayed painfully tight on her ring finger, though she avoided thinking how it was going to have to be cut off. 

Wedding ring. Husband. Jim.

_Oh. Shit._

“Len, Jim’s on his way.”

Her heart kicked it double time. She jerked her head to the side and back. “No.” Len was well aware that her uniform – made not only for a female, but for a smaller human in general – was too tight and too revealing. Especially on a man.

And Jim Kirk didn’t do men.

Oh, Lord. She was heading for another divorce.

“Scotty, he can’t see me.” She said, wincing. She stumbled off the transporter pad on shaky legs, and dropped the medical bag by the console. “He can’t see me.” Staggering on shaky legs to door, panic fueled her enough to give her the strength to run down the hall, in the opposite direction from the bridge. She’d take the long way back to her quarters - she’d hide in the bathroom if she had to, since she couldn’t go back to her old quarters, as they had been given to someone else after her engagement to Jim. 

As for what to do with Jim? Well, she’d figure that out behind a closed door and away from gossip-hungry crewmembers.

* * *

Her uniform (her woman one) lay in the corner of the bathroom, wedged between the toilet and the sink. Wearing a pair of Jim’s sweatpants and a t-shirt, she was surveying herself with a rather morbid fascination in the bathroom mirror. Both doors were safely locked, as well as the door to Jim’s quarters, too. He’d probably be able to override it, but it would take a couple of minutes.

Upon first inspection her hazel eyes were the same. And so were her eyebrows. Her patented glare? Well, with a slightly larger forehead and furrier eyebrows, it was a little more potent than normal. Which might not be a bad thing, truthfully. She hadn’t had the gumption to look below her waist while she’d put on the sweatpants, but from the waist up she was well-defined and quite…handsome. The only thing that didn’t fit was the long hair, still in its ponytail, and her bangs still near her eyes. 

Another thing she hadn’t figured out what to do with was her wedding ring. She was lucky she still had circulation in her finger, and she knew it would have to be cut off. 

Her wedding ring. That Jim had given her when they’d stood in front of Admiral Pike and said their vows. The ring that Jim had given to her while on one knee in the middle of the bridge when he’d called her up there. The ring that he’d slid back on her finger as he’d slid into her the same night as he’d proposed, making love to her tender and sweet. She loved Jim, with everything that she had, and the ring on her finger was only a small – but very, very important – reminder of that love. 

Len wiped at her cheeks, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. Men didn’t cry. And she was a man now, and so she couldn’t cry. (She knew this wasn’t always true – Jim had cried a few times, though never in public, and only very briefly with his head tucked between her shoulder and neck.) 

Couldn’t didn’t mean she didn’t want to, and she did want to.

She hadn’t heard from Scotty since the incident (she’d purposefully left her communicator in the other room, turned off) and nobody had tried to find her. Scotty had probably told Jim, and Jim had told those who really needed to know (M’Benga, Chapel, his nursing staff) and warned everyone else to back off from the CMO for a little while. 

What gave her a little more piece of mind was that Jim hadn’t come looking for her yet. It also stung, too. 

The chime on Spock’s side of the bathroom went off. 

Len froze. She wasn’t sure who was on the other side, and she gripped the sink until her palms hurt.

“Len, it’s me. Nyota.” 

She gnawed on her bottom lip. Did she let her friend in, or did she keep everybody out until she got used to his new body (rumor, and don’t ask how she had heard rumor already was that Scotty hadn’t quite figured out how to fix it yet) and got a handle on being male.

“Let me in, Len. Please.”

The pleading tone was evident through the door. Len knew she couldn’t keep everybody out forever. She unlocked the door and opened it. Nyota was now only a little shorter than she was, and Len felt awkward, big, and clumsy in the body she wore. Compared to Nyota’s litheness and grace, she felt like a behemoth. An awkward, ugly, behemoth.

“Oh, Len.” Nyota said, closing the door behind her. Len’s lower lip wobbled in a very unmanly way. The other woman simply opened her arms. Len wasn’t aware she was moving until she was sobbing into the collar of Nyota’s uniform, and Nyota was taking down her ponytail to stroke her chestnut hair. When Len had cried herself out and was sniffling, Nyota stepped back, keeping a hold of Len’s hands, and looked at her. Len, eyes red and puffy, nose blubbery, felt incredibly awkward once again.

“Well,” Nyota said after she’d looked awhile, “you need a haircut. Other than that, you are still the same smokin’ hot Lenore McCoy Kirk that I know.” Len’s smile was watery. “With the same smile, too.” She squeezed Len’s hands. “Have you seen your husband yet?”

Len shook her head, not trusting her voice. 

“Lenore,” Nyota said, “as hard as it’s going to be, you need to see Jim.”

“I can’t.”She made to pull back.

“Yes, you can. You have to – he’s your husband.”

“Yeah, and Jim married a woman.” The Southern came through in her accent with her anxiousness. “And, if you ain’t noticed, I’m no woman at the moment.”

Nyota sensed she wasn’t going to get anymore out of Len at the moment, and switched tactics instead. “Well, Len, how about a haircut?”

Len ran her fingers through her hair. It had taken so long to grow out. Jim liked it long on her. As a woman, that is. As a man…long hair looked out of place. And Starfleet had their regulations and whatnot. “Yeah. I think one of those might be a good idea.”

* * 

Len had to face the thing she was dreading when she finally stepped out of the bathroom in the middle of the afternoon (or what passed for it on a starship) and found Jim sitting on the edge of their bed, shoulders hunched and fingers steepled. He was usually only like that when he’d had a rough day. Len rubbed at the back of her neck, keenly aware that the gesture held new meaning in a new body. She had clear her throat a few times before she found her new voice. “Hi.”

Jim’s blue eyes were like a beacon. “Scotty commed me on the bridge to tell me what happened.” 

She swallowed. Jim was using the same tone of voice he used when trying to get ensigns and foreign diplomats to cop to whatever they’d done behind his back. She couldn’t ever remember him using that tone with her, even during their first timid days at the academy.

“And I got down there, and no one knew where you were.” He was hurt – that was obvious. And he was also a little angry. His blue eyes pinned her. “I couldn’t find you, Bones. You weren’t answering comms or anything, and I couldn’t find you.”

She’d almost forgotten how much Jim didn’t like for her to go missing in any way (it hadn’t happened, even on an away mission, in quite some time). To lose her on his own ship, on his territory, was not a pleasant experience. She couldn’t help it – she’d freaked out, looking to hide instead of confront. 

Jim moved over a little on the edge of the bed, a clear invitation for her to come and sit. She moved woodenly, easing herself down and leaving a healthy amount of space between them, unsure where they stood. She knew that Jim Kirk didn’t do men. He’d had a reputation of womanizing and screwing anything with female genitalia while at the Academy, and though that had tapered significantly after meeting her and somehow winding up as roommates (she blamed the fact that she put “Len” on her applications and who could blame her? Who the hell signed up for a name like “Lenore?”) and when they’d finally gotten together, he’d been faithful. Hell, when they’d told Pike they were planning on getting married, the man had almost fallen out of his seat. 

Never once had she heard or seen anything that even _hinted_ he was interested in men. 

Which, given Len’s current state, meant that another marriage might be heading down the tubes. And if her relationship with Jim were to go, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Or where she’d go. The Enterprise, God help her, was home. Jim was home. Even the engineers who couldn’t keep their fingers out of smoking conduits was home. 

She’d given up home once and had made a vow never to do it again.

“I don’t like not being able to find you, Bones.” Jim was still hunched, staring at the floor beneath his boots. 

Len had the urge to be held and told everything was going to be okay so bad that it made her chest hurt. But she didn’t move. She didn’t want Jim to reject her, so she didn’t move and contented herself with biting her lip nearly bloody.

Jim’s fingers clenched. He uncurled them slowly and reached tentatively for Len’s own hands. She wasn’t aware he was doing so, and with the first brush of his fingers on the back of her hand, flinched away from him. Jim drew his arm back and stared at the floor again. 

She needed out. She needed someplace to clear her head. Len jerked herself to her feet, muttered some unintelligible bullshit excuse, and beat a hasty retreat out the door. Jim, still sitting on the edge of the bed, stared at retreating backside until the door hissed closed.

_Well, shit._

* * *

The only person who knew where she was hiding was Nyota, and she’d been sworn to secrecy. As much secrecy as existed on a starship to begin with, and Len didn’t really care who came through the Jeffries tube as long as it wasn’t Jim. Was it wrong to hide from her husband? Possibly. Was it what she was doing? Definitely. She wasn’t ready to face rejection – not from Jim – and not because of a damn transporter accident. It was probably against some regulation somewhere (or a whole page, she didn’t know exactly) for the CMO to simply go AWOL and hide in a Jeffries tube because a she had become a he, and she wasn’t dealing well with her new transition.

Well, she was doing better. Going to the bathroom was a little weird, and she was still too freaked out by the sudden change in her anatomy to really even _look_ at herself naked. She crawled out of the tube during Gamma or Delta shift – never at the same time, in case Jim might be looking for her at a specific time – and got some food, went to the bathroom, and used the decon showers in sickbay to clean herself. If Chapel noticed her coming and going, her head nurse didn’t say anything, either to her or the Captain. 

She’d made it four full days living like a hermit (or a scared child) in the Jeffries tubes, wadding her bulky male body in the small space, scratching absently at the growth on her face. She knew how to shave her legs, but she wasn’t ready to go from legs (where it was fairly common to cut yourself and slap a band-aid over it) to her own cheeks, chin, and throat. That was just asking for trouble. 

Her only other issue in the tube – other than confined space – was that she missed Jim. She didn’t sleep well when she wasn’t near him. And by near him, she missed the way his body would curve around her smaller one when they slept together, the way his even breathing stirred her bangs and the way his heart beat steady in his chest under her ear. She missed their togetherness. She missed lounging with him, relaxing after a hard day. She missed washing his back in the shower, and she missed his fingers scrubbing her scalp. 

She missed her husband something fierce.

A rattle in the tubes startled her. She tensed, ready to bolt further in, until she saw it was Nyota. Nyota who’s hair was a mess with wide eyes. The doctor that lived perpetually in Len straightened, wary and ready to act. 

“It’s the Captain. He’s been hurt – M’Benga’s not sure he can fix him. Or how long he’s got left.”

Len was sure her heart stopped beating for a moment. “Move!” She crawled to Nyota and brushed past her, scrambling through the Jeffries tubes that she’d made her hermit-like home for days, squinting when she burst haphazardly out of a conduit in the wall in the engineering department. She rolled to her feet, sprinting through the decks like a woman possessed. It didn’t matter that she was, on some level, still afraid of Jim and how he would look at her, that he might divorce her. She still loved her husband (the seriously tight and uncomfortable gold band on her finger a symbol of that) and she wasn’t going to let him go before she was ready. Which included saving his sorry ass again from a mission-gone wrong or whatever stupidity he’d gotten himself into.

She careened into Sickbay, took a wordless direction from Chapel for the isolation room, and paused long enough to push up her sleeves and scrub her forearms. Everything else would have to wait – she needed to get to Jim, and she needed to have been there yesterday. She stepped through the door and into the room.

Jim lay on his back on the biobed, incredibly still. She approached, not as Lenore McCoy Kirk, but as Doctor McCoy. 

She was completely unprepared for Jim to sit up, swing his legs over the side, and glare at her. 

Len knew, in that moment, that she’d been had. And she was not happy. 

By the look of it, neither was Jim.

“What. The. Fuck, Bones.” Jim hopped off the bed and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “You run out of our room four days ago – four fucking _days_ \- and don’t come back? And I hear you’ve been living in a _Jeffries tube?_ What the hell is going on, Bones?”

She crossed her own arms over her flat chest. “What’s going on? Well, Jim,” she drawled, missing his shiver, “if you hadn’t noticed, your _wife_ is now your _husband._ ” 

“Your point?” he growled. 

Len froze.

“You think that just because you happen to be male now doesn’t mean that you’re not you?” He pushed off the biobed and stalked over to her. He was a little taller than she was, and he reached out, cupping her face. “Your eyes are still hazel, your hair is still the same color, and you’re still _you_ in there, Bones. You just changed your skin, that’s all.”

“Human’s ain’t rattlers, Jim,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “We ain’t supposed to change skins.”

He stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones and shook his head minutely. “What would you have done if it had been me up there? Me turned into a woman? What would you have done?”

Her response was automatic. “I would still love you.” It dawned on her. “You still love me.”

“Of course I do.” He stepped closer, clearly inside her personal space bubble. “I told you forever, and I meant it.” His right hand fumbled for her left, closing around her fingers. He looked at said hand. “How has your finger not fallen off yet?”

“I dunno, but it hurts,” she admitted in a low voice, liking for the first time the way it reverberated through her chest. She stepped closer, tucking herself against his front. Jim’s hands roamed over new landscape, and for once it didn’t feel awkward. It actually felt good.

It was an odd sensation, the beginning of an erection. She blushed hotly, burying her face in Jim’s neck the moment she knew he felt her, half-hard against his thigh. He chuckled kindly, kissing her temple. Her blush ratcheted up another notch. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid! To think that Jim wouldn’t love her because she was in a different body. 

It was then she realized how badly she must have hurt him by running and hiding. How badly he must have slept and how much his mind had probably been other places during his shift. 

And living in a Jeffries tube? Not the smartest idea ever, on her part.

“Bones,” he murmured, “as much as I hate to say this, we need to get your ring off so you can have some feeling back in your finger.”

She nodded, eventually allowing him to lead her from the isolation room to the main sickbay. They settled on the biobed, Len with her back to Jim’s front between his legs, and waited for M’Benga. 

“Glad to see you out and about again, Len,” Geoff remarked as he found the tool he wanted – small, but heavy-duty cutters – and gently inserted them between the titanium band and her skin. “Though, you are a little scary with a beard.”

She scowled, barely noticing when he snapped the band in half. She flinched as an after fact (she felt it necessary) and took the broken circle carefully. 

“Scotty is fully prepared to put it back together for you when he’s fixed the transporter to get you your other body.” Geoff smiled broadly. “Welcome back, Len.”

* * *

The first thing Jim did after they got back to their quarters was to steer her into the bathroom and tug the shirt up over her head.

“You are a little scary with facial hair,” he said, filling the sink with warm water and retrieving an old-fashioned razor and shaving cream from under the sink. He perched himself on the sink, wrapped his long legs around Len’s hips, and pulled her in close. “You trust me?”

She nodded. Of course she did. And she always would.

Jim splashed a little water on her face before lathering her up with shaving cream. She bent forward a little, bracing her hands on the side of the sink and he tightened his legs more securely around her. With a gentle, careful hand, he dragged the razor over her skin, starting at her cheeks and jaw, leaving her enough sideburn to look like a man, but not so much that she resembled a politician from centuries ago Terran. Jim was thinking he didn’t want his wife – husband – to resemble Abe Lincoln or anything and he stroked each bare patch of skin with his thumb as it was revealed. Len’s eyes never left Jim’s face, though he could feel the blush creeping in as Jim’s touch did what Jim’s touch normally did – make her a little hot under the collar. There was nothing sexual about the touches (he was shaving her face so she didn’t scare anyone, herself included) but it was almost as intimate as sex. Maybe more so.

He rubbed her hamstring with his heel, humming softly under his breath while he tapped the razor against the edge of the sink. There was only a little left, and he cleared it with one broad swipe. Once he placed the razor on the sink, he used his thumbs to wipe off any remaining lather from her face, smearing it unceremoniously on his gold command shirt because he didn’t want to move to get a towel. Len shivered when she caught the full force of Jim’s _you are beautiful, Bones_ look, inching closer and laying her head in the juncture of his shoulder and neck, arms wrapped around his torso. His hands stroked up and down her back, mapping everything from the dip in her spine to her broader shoulders, relearning her through touch. His hips hitched forward a little, and she felt his erection through his pants, pressed against her lower belly that wasn’t quite as soft as it used to be.

“Relax, Bones,” he whispered in her ear, tonguing the shell. “When – if – you’re ready. Just me and you right now.”

Len wanted to crawl as far into Jim’s skin as possible and be held there. It was safe there. She inched forward, though there really wasn’t anywhere for her to go. Jim slid back a little, bending awkwardly, and slid into the sinkful of luke-warm water with a yelp, taking Len with him enough that her head thunked the mirror and she was on her toes. Water sloshed over the side and onto the floor; the razor disappeared somewhere between the toilet and the wall, and Jim’s legs lay open and akimbo around Len’s hips.

She took one look at Jim’s absolutely priceless face and snorted, trying to contain her laughter. He shifted his rear in the water, grimacing as it wicked up his back. She lost it, chuckling and then full-out belly laughing. Jim smacked her side playfully, laughing as well. It was always good to hear Len laugh, and this new, deeper voice was no different. It still came from the same source.

Len untangled herself from Jim to step back near the shower. It took Jim a few tries – and some flexibility – to get his ass out of the sink and slide his feet to the floor. Len was still cracking up, although a little more quietly. 

“That’s funny, is it?” Jim asked, wringing out the back of his shirt. “Okay. Okay.” He stalked toward Len. She had nowhere to go, caught between Jim and the shower door, but playfully fought him every step of the way, even as he caged her in his arms, manhandling her until he dumped her on the sink and into the basin. More water sloshed onto the floor – laugher and “Damn it, Jim!” echoed off the walls – and it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when Jim leaned in past her somewhat flailing arms and touched his mouth to hers. She stilled for a moment, but when he licked at the corner of her mouth she let him in. He tasted the same, and her hands still scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders. His hands framed her ribs, thumbs stroking over the muscle of her abdomen as he reacquainted himself with the inside of her mouth. Her blood migrated south, and she realized how uncomfortable Jim’s boxer briefs must be when he was fully hard, because this was almost painful. 

Boxer briefs. That she’d stolen from Jim’s underwear drawer. That he was going to know she stole because his right hand was creeping steadily toward her zipper.

Until it changed course to grip her hips and assist her ass out of the sink basin. He was between her spread legs once her feet touched the floor, and the bulge in the front of his pants felt nearly as good pressed against her own bulge as it did when pressed against her slit. Even through four layers of fabric.

She impatiently dragged his shirts over his head, anxious to get to skin. Skin she could touch in much broader strokes with her bigger hands. Her fingers were still agile and quick (if a little thicker) and she had a hand down the front of his pants before either of them realized what was going on. The broader palm must have felt good – Jim pushed himself into her hand with a whine. 

_Maybe there are perks to this,_ she thought, careful to keep her hand where it was as Jim backed them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. To their bed. The one she’d been missing for four days. The one she’d gladly be pushed onto her back on. Which was exactly what would happen – once Jim had divested the pair of them of their pants.

He took a step back and looked his fill. Cocked his head to the side. “Are those my underwear?”

Len fought the urge to cover herself with her hands, and settled for running her fingers along the elastic waistband. “Uh…yeah. Wearing a thong when you have external sex organs is a little painful, there, Jim.” And the blush was back, full force.

Jim stepped into her personal space again, tenderly cupping her through the fabric. Blue met hazel. “Are you all right with this?”

She looked at him like he had another head. “Am I okay with this? What about you?” She could now fry eggs on her cheeks, she was sure. “Have you ever been with a man?”

It was Jim’s turn to color. “A few times. Before the Academy. Before you.” He pressed a little harder; Len desperately needed something to hold onto.

“So you’re ready and willing to go from being a straight man with a wife to a gay man with a husband?” If Len’s voice was a little breathless, neither of them noticed.

“Well, when it’s the same person, it’s fine.” He nipped at her jaw, agile fingers slipping under the waistband. “Can I see you?” he whispered in her ear.

Len’s throat went dry. She nodded jerkily, wrapping her arms around Jim’s shoulders and spreading her legs a little more. He eased the elastic over her new anatomy and tossed them in the direction of the hamper. Taking her hands in his, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, stepping backward.

It reminded Len a lot of the first time they’d had sex. Jim had looked at her in much the same way – only this time, instead of admiring her curves and her wide hips, he was admiring the flat planes and sharp angles of her new body. And from the way his pupils were rapidly dilating, he was liking what he was seeing.

“Wow, Bones,” he murmured. “You are gorgeous.”

She had a little bit of a hard time believing it. But the way Jim was looking at her, and the way he’d been touching her…Jim loved her. That much was plain. 

And unless she was very much mistaken, he was going to make love to her very, very soon. With her permission, of course, because having spent so long as a woman and then having the body of a man was disconcerting. Having sex might be damned awkward, if she stayed in her head space long enough.

A hard grip on her cock brought her out of her meanderings with a jolt. Her hips seemed to know what to do, searching for friction in Jim’s hand. Jim – in a fit of contortionism – got his underwear off with one hand and somehow got them on the bed, side by side. Jim reached behind him into the drawer on the night stand for the lube, slicking up his hand and taking them both. Len arched her back with a drawn out moan that sounded low, guttural, and twenty kinds of hot, even in her own ears. 

Jim shifted his hips, trying for more friction while his hand traced around to Len’s rear, circling his hole. Len stiffened predictably, all wide-eyed and slightly stunned. Jim licked at Len’s lips until he was allowed in, circling the finger in the meantime until he popped it gently in. Len was incredibly tight and hot (which was usually how she felt, in her other body, wrapped around Jim’s cock), but it wasn’t long before Jim had two fingers in her. And appeared to be searching for something. 

“Jim…” Len ground out, almost over-stimulated and having one hell of an experience. “What…what the hell are you…”

“Prostate, Bones. Prostate.” He crooked his fingers and pressed. Len felt like his entire body seized and then darkness.

* * *

Len blinked her eyes open from a very warm and snuggly position under the covers and draped across Jim’s chest. “Did I black out?”

A chuckle reverberated through Jim’s chest and under her ear. “A little much to handle?”

“Some of us have only been male for less than a week.” She snuggled closer. “Jim?”

“Yeah, Bones?”

How could she ask this? This specific question in the afterglow of their first time as a same sex couple? As hard as it was to fully comprehend, it might become the norm for them. There was the chance that Scotty wouldn’t find a way to fix this, and she’d be...well, she’d be a Leonard instead of a Lenore. It would take a little bit to get used to her hands – especially during surgery, though sims would help with that – but she could live with it. She could live with being male. 

As long as she had Jim, she could probably handle just about anything.

Len burrowed into Jim’s side further. “Nothing.”

“You were going to ask what we would do if Scotty can’t fix this.”

When the hell had Jim gotten so good at reading her? 

“Bones,” Jim said, stroking a hand up and down her spine, “we are going to live as happily ever after as we mentioned – in different words with different meanings – in our wedding vows. I’m not going to leave you because you’re a man. You’re still Bones. In different packaging.”

Which proved once more to Len that there was definitely more to Jim Kirk that usually met the eye, no matter how shrewd it viewed the world.

“And I still love you.”

“I love you too, Jim.” And really, it would be alright if she stayed the way she was for the rest of her natural life. 

But it would be okay to be a woman again, too. Really.


End file.
